


The First Time

by kindergoth, wendeetestaburger



Category: South Park
Genre: Death, Depression, M/M, Self Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindergoth/pseuds/kindergoth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendeetestaburger/pseuds/wendeetestaburger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a tragedy that cannot be undone, Kyle Broflovski learns to deal with a wide range of emotions as he continues to live his life through a tinted view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was a really difficult story to write, so I can only imagine how difficult it is to read. Also, there is self harm and suicide mentioned in this story, so please read at your own risk.  
> This story was inspired by this comic: https://twitter.com/665wiz/status/462556473306787840/photo/1

Spring had finally sprung in South Park, Colorado. The sun was bright overhead, birds were singing, snow was melting, flowers were blooming. It was a beautiful day.

Kyle Broflovski was the third car in the funeral procession. He followed the first two cars to the cemetery, the hearse leading the way. It was a miracle he could drive through his tears, his eyes fogged up so badly. He didn’t care that he was ruining his best black suit with tears. His mother would understand.

Behind him was Kenny McCormick in Eric Cartman’s car. Cartman had been silent for the entire service, not even bothering to open his mouth to pray. Kenny had prayed politely during the service, somehow knowing every word to every prayer.

When they reached the cemetery, Kyle parked his car as close to the exit as possible. He sat in a folding chair next to the open grave, trying his best not to hyperventilate. Sharon and Randy Marsh were standing by the priest, attempting to control themselves. Shelly stood near them, sniffling but not crying, or at least not crying as badly as she was at the church.

And where was Stan? Right there. They unloaded him from the hearse, the pallbearers bringing him to where everyone else was. Kyle looked away as they brought the casket to where the grave was, his eyes meeting Cartman’s, dry brown eyes colliding with glassy green ones. Cartman’s face was stone cold, showing no emotion, not sprouting his usual smart-ass smirk.

Kyle looked away from Cartman quickly and put his head in his hands. The priest began to speak, but Kyle wasn’t listening. This was too surreal. It couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t watch his best friend be lowered into the ground. He stood up quickly, his hands holding his head. The world was spinning. He had to go. He ran back towards his car.

And that was the first time.

***

Kyle changed slowly over the next few months. If you took a photograph of Kyle before Stan’s death and compared it to Kyle then, the change was obvious. Intelligent, calculating, and gentle green eyes had been gradually reduced to eyes that were empty, inevitably hardened by the death of his friend. But since it was slow, no one noticed.

After the funeral, Kyle didn’t go to school for a while. His mother let him stay home and mourn. That’s what you do when your best friend dies. He would lay in bed and cry, thinking of all the good times they had, how he would never get to hug his super best friend again. They had such great times together. But that time ended, like all things. And soon, Kyle was back in school: skinnier, paler, sicklier.

Cartman acted like nothing happened, never bringing up Stan or his death, and still always picking on Kyle. But instead of fighting back, Kyle nodded.

“Kyle?” Cartman would say as they passed in the hallway.

“Yeah?” he would reply.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Kyle would whisper, watching Cartman’s back grow smaller and smaller. “Me too.”

Kyle never took off his jacket. If he did, he would’ve revealed the ever-growing amount of tiny red lines on his forearm. He never showed them to anyone, never spoke about them, but they were there, continuously reminding him of how he'd stay awake until four in the morning, reminding him of how weak he really was.

One day, one particularly bad day, Kyle and Cartman were sitting on a bench outside of the school during lunch. No one bothered them. After Stan had passed away, the rest of the kids almost went out of their way to avoid Kyle. Kyle knew they weren’t doing it out of malice; they just didn’t understand, didn’t know how to act around him. Kenny had disappeared for a few days, but that was completely normal. They were sitting, eating their lunch quietly, barely speaking to each other.

“Cartman?” Kyle said softly.

“What’s up, Jew?” Cartman was pigging out with his sub sandwich and Lay’s chips, his smirk firmly in place.

“Do you miss him?”

Cartman froze, and his smirk melted away. He hesitated, but answered “No” after a moment, then continued to eat, all emotion drained from his face.

“What?” Kyle asked, disbelief evident on his face. He was hurt. “You… you don’t miss him? Not at all?”

“No. He’s gone. He’s not coming back. There’s no point,” the heavier boy responded, voice noncommittal.

He began to tear up a little. “I know he’s not coming back…. but don’t you want him to? Don’t you miss him at _all_?” Stan is-- _was_ a huge part of his life, a person he shared everything with. It was difficult to think not everyone felt so loving towards the deceased boy.

Cartman’s face hardened. “No. Stop asking me that.”

Kyle exploded. He stood up, dropping the food on his lap to the ground, and began to yell, ignoring completely the looks of bewilderment from the students around them. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you feel bad? At all? Are you that much of a fucking psychopath that you can’t understand other people’s feelings?! How the hell do you not miss him? He was your best fucking friend!”

“No, Kyle, he was _your_ best fucking friend! But you know what? It doesn’t matter, because he’s gone now, and there’s nothing anyone can ever do to bring him back! You can’t focus on the past, okay? You have to focus on moving on!”

“You can’t expect me to move on right away! God dammit, Cartman, you just said it, he was my best friend!”

“It was three months ago! Sure, I was upset at first, but I don’t care anymore! He’s gone, and nothing you can do will ever bring him back! Fucking move on!”

By now, the two boys were standing up and screaming at each other, and students around them were staring in shock. But neither of them cared.

Kyle was tearing up again. “I _can’t_ move on, you shitstain! He was like my twin brother! We did everything together! I miss him every fucking day and you don’t give a shit! I can’t fucking believe you!”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have driven him to kill himself!” Cartman screamed, fists clenched in rage.

Kyle froze, his face twisted into an expression of hurt and shock. He felt like he had been slapped. Cartman stood there, red in the face and panting, not even realizing what he had said. Kyle’s eyes filled with tears and he covered his mouth with one hand, then turned and ran.

The redheaded boy fled the scene, desperate to get away from the scene, from everyone. He ran until he was out of breath, until he couldn’t run anymore. Tears streamed down his cheeks in a steady pace, and he stopped by some trash cans behind the school to catch his breath.

He didn’t notice the heavyset boy following behind him, struggling to keep up.

Kyle sat on the ground, tears falling at regular intervals and hiccuping, and reached into his pocket. His sobs slowed. Cartman strained to see what was in his hand that made him calm down. Kyle took a deep breath and opened the small box, revealing… a small silver razor blade. The metal glinted dangerously in the sunlight between shaking, pale hands. Cartman’s eyes narrowed as he watched from behind, still unable to grasp what Kyle’s intentions were.

Kyle rolled up his sleeve slightly, revealing newly healed wounds and whitened scars, but not showing even a quarter of the damage done. He hiccuped once and brought the blade to his wrist. Cartman watched in horror as he realized what Kyle was doing. He… he couldn’t just stand by and watch as Kyle did this. He had known Kyle to be the goody-two-shoes, the boy who tried to dabble with alcohol, but ended up puking all over the floor. He remembered when they had all convinced him to try pot, which ended with Kyle staring at his hands in the bathroom for two hours. He never pegged the guy to do something this drastic, this self-deprecating. He hated it, and wasn't going to let it continue.

“Kyle,” Cartman whispered, stepping out from behind the wall he was standing behind. “What are you doing?”

Kyle’s head turned sharply and he stood up, dropping the razor, startled. It clattered to the ground, the noise obnoxiously loud and resonating in his ears. “Cartman! What the fuck are you doing?!” He sounded more scared than angry.

Cartman’s face hardened and he gripped Kyle’s shoulders. “Answer me. What are you doing.” It was more of a demand than a question.

Kyle was trapped in Cartman’s grip. He looked away, guilt hidden in his eyes. “Nothing.”

“That sure as hell doesn’t look like nothing, asshole! I’ll ask you again. What. The fuck. Are you. Doing.”

Kyle sighed and slumped over, dejected. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words heavy in the air, suspended between them.

Cartman’s face softened a little and let go of the boy. “Kyle… how long have you been doing this?”

Kyle didn’t answer, but instead silently rolled up his sleeves. Cartman watched in horror as the sleeves revealed hundreds of lines, some deeper or longer than others. They were both silent as the bigger boy stood there and took in the sight. Kyle distantly felt uncomfortable being on display, under the microscope of another set of eyes. Those marks were his and his alone, each one a physical memoir of burdened pain.

He couldn’t believe this. “Kyle… oh my god.”

Kyle looked at Cartman’s face but didn’t see him. His eyes were terrifyingly sad, almost dead. He rolled his sleeve up further, revealing the darkest, deepest mark. “That’s Stan’s funeral,” he said, pointing. “That was the first time.”

Cartman could feel the hopelessness resonating off of him. “Jesus Christ, Kyle, I… I had no idea.” His eyes widened. “You… you were going to cut this time because of me, weren’t you?”

Kyle was silent. That was all the confirmation he needed. “Kyle, you know I didn’t mean that. You didn’t drive Stan to kill himself.”

The smaller boy laughed bitterly. “That’s the thing, though. I did. It’s all my fault he’s dead now. He came to me for help a week before he died, and I didn’t listen to him. Next thing I know, he’s dead and the burden is on my shoulders.” His voice cracked the way voices do when the speaker is about to break down. “Cartman,” he looked up tearfully. “I did kill him.” It was terrifying to say that out loud, it felt so much more concrete.

Cartman grabbed the boy and held him. Kyle was shocked for a moment. Cartman never showed him any sort of kindness, but now they were hugging tightly. Kyle couldn’t take it any longer. He collapsed in Cartman’s arms, a sobbing mess. They stood there for a few minutes, Kyle sobbing, Cartman letting one or two tears slip down his cheeks.

Cartman took a deep breath. “Kyle… I know I said I hated you, but… Jesus, I never actually hated you. I actually kind of…. like you.”

Kyle hiccuped and looked up at him. “You… you do?”

“Yeah. Like a lot. I really admire you, Kyle.”

Kyle’s eyes were wide with wonder. “You… you’re not being a dick?”

“No, I mean it. Every word.”

Kyle smiled. It was the first time he had smiled since Stan’s death.

***

“Kyle. We have to do this.”

“I… I know. I just don’t want to.”

“Do it for Stan.”

Sharon Marsh had called over Kyle and Cartman to help them clean out Stan’s room. Kyle honestly didn’t want to step foot back in that room, the room where so many great memories were made, but Cartman had managed to coerce him. _For Stan_ , he thought as he trudged through the driving spring mountain snow into the house.

Mrs. Marsh led them up to his room, fatigue evident on her gentle features. “I’ll leave you. I went through most of his stuff already, I just thought there might be things you wanted.” Her eyes glassed over and she left the room.

Kyle took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was rather bare, with piles of things on the floor.

Cartman took his hand. “You can do this, Kyle. Deep breaths.” Together they sat down and went through the piles.

The ordeal was mostly silent, a few “Hey, look at this!” here and there, along with some sobs and the occasional laugh about memories.

After a few hours, Kyle stood up and went to Stan’s dresser, checking to see if his booze collection was still there. He opened the drawer and saw a few more bottles, mostly empty. And underneath them…

Kyle stared at the folded piece of paper. He slowly removed the bottles covering it, reading the word printed on it. _Kyle_. He gasped.

“What is it?” Cartman said, coming up behind the boy. He froze when he saw what Kyle was holding. “Holy shit… are you gonna open it?”

“What? Oh, yeah, of course.”

 

_Dear Kyle,_

_The first thing I want you to know is that it’s not your fault. In no way is my death your fault. I decided a long time ago that I needed to do this. It was the only true way I could be happy. I also want you to know I love you a lot. Like a brother. You’re the brother I never had, Kyle. You were always there when I needed you, and I hope I was always there when you needed me. Who am I kidding, now that I’m gone I won’t be here when you need me. But it’s too late for me._

_When I came to you for help, it was already too late. I had pretty much decided what I was going to do. I expected you to get mad at me, telling me I was ridiculous. You’ve never experienced death or depression firsthand, so you had no idea what it felt like. Well, it feels like a big black hole, sucking out all the happiness and joy in your life. My black hole was too big. It swallowed me._

_I also wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I put you through all the pain I did. I can’t deal with change, which is why the doctors think my depression got worse. Remember those days I didn’t come to school because I was sick? I wasn’t sick. I couldn’t get out of bed. My sadness consumed me and I couldn’t go on any longer. There was nothing you or anyone could do._

_I have to cut this short because I feel the pills starting to take effect. My vision is getting hazy and my hands are starting to become numb. I won’t be able to think straight soon. But before that happens, I just want you to know that I approve of you and Cartman. I see the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you. He really loves you, Kyle, and you’re blind if you can’t see it. Be with him and be happy. I know you can be happy without me, Kyle. I know you can. It might seem impossible at first, but I believe in you. Just think of me as your guardian angel._

_It’s time for me to go. I hear angels singing, Kyle. I have to go. I’m sorry. For everything. I love you. Please keep living, for me. Be happy. It’s what I want. I love you._

_Stan_

 

By the time Kyle was done reading the letter, he had dissolved into a puddle of tears. Cartman held him again. He sobbed onto Cartman’s shoulder, tears staining his red polyester jacket. Cartman held him again, tightly, lovingly, comforting him.

Once Kyle had calmed himself down, he looked up at Cartman. “Cartman?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… actually love me?”

Eric looked away, biting his lip. He took a deep breath. “...Kind of, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Well I don’t believe you now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you haven’t said it.”

But instead of saying it right away, Cartman took Kyle’s face in his hands, and kissed him. They stood there, kissing in Stan’s empty room, snow falling outside, and Stan watching them from above.

“I love you, Kyle.”

And that was the first time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my two best friends September (www.kindergoth.net), my coauthor, and Caine (craigsghost.tumblr.com) for helping me write this. I love you both dearly.


End file.
